


Boo!

by lokitrashno_1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley isn't a big spooky fan, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ghosts, Haunting, Kinda, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), kinda cracky i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokitrashno_1/pseuds/lokitrashno_1
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale move out of London to the South Downs for a quiet, peaceful retirement.Only it isn't that way for Crowley.





	Boo!

**Author's Note:**

> What if Crowley is actually a massive wimp? What if he isn't a 'Big Spooky Fan' like he's made himself out to be?

Aziraphale was head-over-heels in love with their new cottage.

“Isn’t it just perfect?” He gushed during the speedy car ride back to London. They had just put their deposit down and could move in as soon as everything had been straightened out; Aziraphale was so excited he hadn’t even thought to scold the demon for his reckless driving. “It was almost as if it was made for us! So much room for books, a sun room, an enormous garden, so much character and _history_…” 

Crowley wished he could be as enthusiastic.

The truth was, and there was no way in Heaven he would admit it out loud; he had a reputation to maintain after all, the place gave him the creeps. He wasn’t sure why, but there was an energy about the place that made his insides squirm. The angel obviously hadn’t picked up on it, but he had. That unnerved him even more.

“Yeah.” Crowley agreed, gruffly. Crowley liked to insist he loved everything spooky, but the truth was, he hated it. “Perfect.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel ever so slightly.

“The spare bedroom would make a good study, I think.” Aziraphale continued on, blind to the demons discomfort. “Lots of room for books in there especially. Perhaps we could even put some shelves in the sun room? If that’s ok with you, of course. I’m sure you’ll be using that room the most, dear.”

“It’s fine with me.” Crowley said.

* * *

Humans have always said that the most stressful things in life were marriage, divorce and moving. Crowley couldn’t personally vouch for the first two. (Yet. He and Aziraphale were going to have a quiet, spring wedding. He hoped he would never find out about the stresses of divorce.) But moving? That was most defiantly stressful. Even for two supernatural beings.

Crowley groaned as he slumped down bonelessly onto the sofa that had previously resided in the back of Aziraphale’s book shop. He was happy to find that he still fit into his worn-crease perfectly. Like a home away from home. Or a bit of his old home in the new, as it were. He removed his sunglasses to rub at his tired eyes, squinting at the impossible number of boxes that surrounded them. Most of their contents belonged to the angel, Crowley had only brought his plants, the statues and a few other knickknacks he didn’t really care for. Aziraphale had insisted he bring them along anyway, and the demon was beginning to regret listening to him.

“I’m ready to sleep for another century.” He moaned, letting his head fall back against the plush back of the sofa.

Aziraphale tutted as he bustled around him. Somehow, he was still impossibly energetic. “Not until we’ve unpacked.”

“But most of this crap is yours!” He whined. “Why can’t we just miracle it away?” 

The angel shot him a disapproving look.

“We’re retired, remember? And we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves with unnecessary miracles. And unless you want to sleep on the couch, we have to make the bed up first.”

Crowley groaned dramatically and pulled himself upright. “Fine.” He said. “Where’s the box with the bedding?”

Aziraphale scanned the array of boxes around them, a frown formed on his face.

“For someone’s sake.” Muttered Crowley.

****

What seemed like hours later, (but in reality, was only about half an hour.) Crowley was tucked up in bed. He let out a sigh of relief at the blessed (ugh) warmth around his form and could feel himself quickly falling into sleep.

“Sleep well, my dear.” Aziraphale said, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“Ngk.” Said Crowley as he drifted off.

* * *

Something woke him, but he didn’t know what.

He could hear Aziraphale rummaging around downstairs, but that wasn’t it. Crowley had slept through earthquakes and volcanic eruptions in the past. No, something was wrong.

_That_ feeling was back, and he grimaced. The energy was strong, stronger than it had been all day, and Crowley was suddenly very afraid to open his eyes.

He scoffed internally. He was a demon, for someone’s sake! He was supposed to be all about bad energy, he was supposed to emit it, not cower away in fear. 

It was probably nothing, he told himself. Nothing at all. Everything was fine…

Slowly, Crowley lifted the blankets away from his face and opened his eyes.

His heart stuttered.

There, in the corner, stood a figure. A figure shrouded in darkness that certainly wasn’t there when he had gone to sleep. He scrambled into a sitting position, breathing hard. The figure moved ever so slightly.

“What do you want?” He hissed. “Who are you?”

The figure didn’t reply, but instead moved closer, stepping into the moonlight that broke through the curtains. A yell caught in Crowley’s throat.

It was a girl, a young girl with long, dark, greasy hair that hung down in front of her face, making her look like a cliché horror movie villain. But that wasn’t the worst part. She was covered in pus-filled boils from head to toe, some had burst and bloody pus soaked through her dirty white dress in places. She opened her mouth, her teeth were so rotten they didn’t even look like bone, and her gums oozed blood.

“Get out.” She said, her voice low and raspy. She looked up at him through dark eyes. “Get out, now.”

Crowley froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. This was what he had been sensing, this was the presence; a ghost. Crowley could count on one hand how many times he had encountered a ghost in his six-thousand years. Though he would never admit so, each experience had been terrifying.

Crowley was a demon, and he was afraid of ghosts. He knew how stupid it sounded, he knew the irony, but at that moment he was a little too terrified to be embarrassed.

He desperately wanted to call for Aziraphale, but his voice was trapped in his throat. His mind was reeling. Aziraphale loved this house, if he saw this he might want to move. He didn’t think the angel was one for anything spooky. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Aziraphale about this…

While he was lost in his terror induced thoughts, the girl got impatient. She snarled, “Get out!” She repeated, her voice impossibly low for a girl of her age.

Crowley didn’t need to be told again. He bolted upright and towards the door, ignoring the fact that his feet were dangerously tangled up in the sheets. He landed with a heavy thud on the wooden floorboards before he scrambled to his feet and vaulted out the door and down the stairs. He didn’t even have the courage to look back over his shoulder. 

He stopped abruptly as he reached the doorway to the living room, panting frantically. Aziraphale looked up, startled by his sudden entrance.

“Crowley?” He asked, dropping the book he was holding back into its box and hurrying over to his fiancé’s side. “What’s wrong?!”

The angel gripped his shoulders as an attempt to steady him. Crowley grabbed onto Aziraphale’s upper shoulders to try and ground himself. He was still gasping for breath.

“Did you have a nightmare? Is anyone coming for us?” Aziraphale pressed, worry etched into every little detail of his face.

Crwoley shook his head frantically. “No.” He gasped. “No, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“_Fine?_” Aziraphale echoed, disbelieving. “My dear boy, I’ve never seen you in such a state!”

“I just…” The demons jaw worked as he desperately tried to come up with an excuse that would warrant his behaviour. He drew a blank. “I just wanted to see you.” He finished, lamely. He let go of Aziraphale’s arms and shrugged his hands off his shoulders.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?” He asked, blankly.

Crowley only nodded, he walked past him and into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. His heartrate was only just beginning to calm down and he was sure Aziraphale could hear it.

“Everything’s fine.” 

* * *

It only got worse from there.

The ghost was relentless – she _really_ didn’t want Crowley in the house, and she was making it crystal clear. It got to the point where she would pop up whenever he was alone (which had started to become a rarity. Crowley was stuck to Aziraphale’s side like glue.) He thought he was ready for her attacks, but he was very wrong.

She would pop out from behind doors and let out an ear pricing shriek so sharp Crowley had to clamp his hands over his ears to stop his ear drums from bursting. She would also suddenly materialise in front of his face, which on one occasion made him spill his piping hot coffee down his front. When he slept (which was becoming less frequent) she would sit by his head and growl in his ear like a wild animal.

He wished he was able to get used to it, but months had past and if anything, it was wearing him down.

He barely slept, too paranoid he would wake up to see a boil-filled face centimetres from his own. He was sure the stress had begun to line his face, and if he squinted he thought he could see a couple of grey hairs at his temple. Which shouldn’t even be possible.

“I do wish you would talk to me.” Aziraphale sighed sadly one evening. Crowley’s head was in the angels’ lap as he read. His fingers drifted though the demon’s hair, slow and comforting. It was almost putting Crowley to sleep. 

Crowley looked up at him with feigned confusion. “I do talk to you, Angel.” He said, innocently. “I talk to you all the time.”

“No, about what’s bothering you.” Aziraphale said. He closed his book, which always meant a Conversation was about to follow. “I can help you with whatever’s happening, love.”

“Nothing’s happening.” Crowley said, closing his eyes. “Read to me?”

Aziraphale sighed heavily, but didn’t push the matter any further.

But he found out eventually.

Crowley had been out in the garden weeding in preparation to put out an abundance of plants in the spring. It had started to pour, but he had worked through. A little bit of rain wasn’t going to stop him.

Aziraphale, however, was not pleased.

“Look at you!” He exclaimed as Crowley dragged himself through the back door at sunset. Rain and mud dripped from his sodden form and onto the gleaming tiles that Aziraphale had just been scrubbing. “What were you thinking?”

“I got the job done, didn’t I?” Crowley grumbled. “I’m gonna go dry off.” 

“No, you’re staying there.” Aziraphale disappeared for a moment, before he came back with an armful of towels. He began to lie them on the floor, making a little trail to the downstairs bathroom. “Go and have a warm shower. Honestly, Crowley, you’re so silly sometimes.”

Crowley froze. “A shower?” He asked. 

“Yes.” 

“On my own?” 

“… Yes?” Aziraphale folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not getting in with you. You’re disgusting.” 

Crowley swallowed around the sudden fear in his throat. Alone in the shower was the perfect opportunity for the ghost to jump him. She had done it before, after all. “You know, I could just miracle myself clean…”

“No miracles!” Aziraphale said, firmly. “We don’t want Heaven or Hell knocking at the door.”

Crowley sighed, heavily. “Fine.” He said firmly, as an attempt to hide just how anxious he was. “I’ll have a shower.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley made his way to the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. He switched on the light and even lit some of Aziraphale’s scented candles for good measure, despite the lingering daylight outside the frosted window. Not that it would help; the ghost girl showed up no matter how dark it was. Even though it was completely illogical, the extra light made him feel a little safer.

He quickly stripped off and jumped into the shower and left the curtain open just in case. He began to scrub at his body quickly as his eyes flew across the room.

By the time Crowley was clean, she still hadn’t shown.

He let out a sigh of relief and turned to shut off the water.

When he turned back around she was there, right in front of his face.

He yelled out and jumped so violently he slipped. He grabbed onto the shower curtain to try and steady himself, but it only came away from the rail. He crashed to the floor of the tub with a loud thud and cursed as pain shot up his spine.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s worried call sounded through the wall. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Without even waiting for an answer, he burst through the door.

“That fucking ghost!” Crowley yelled as he fisted the shower curtain that covered him in frustration. “I’m going to kill her! Again!”

Aziraphale paused. Crowley abruptly shut his mouth, he hadn’t meant to say anything about the ghost. “Ghost?” Aziraphale frowned. “You mean Matilda?”

Crowley’s head whipped around to face him. “What?!”

“Matilda. The ghost.” Aziraphale helped the demon to his feet and offered him a towel. 

Aziraphale knew about the ghost? That was something Crowley had not been expecting. “I… What… What?!” He spluttered.

“Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

“You _know _her?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s voice was calm. “I wasn’t aware you did as well.”

Crowley was at a loss for words.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you were afraid of ghosts.” Aziraphale said once they were sat down in the living room and Crowley was dried and dressed.

Crowley starred at him, blankly.

“Wales. 1812. Anyway, she’s a very lovely young girl. Died of the plague in the 1300’s. Very tragic.”

“_Lovely_?” Crowley exclaimed. “Angel, she’s been doing nothing but terrorise me for months!”

Aziraphale looked confused. “She has? She’s been ever so kind to me.” 

“Kind?!” Crowley squawked.

“We talk a lot, mainly when you’re asleep.” Aziraphale continued. “I’m teaching her how to read. She’s really enjoying Little Women.”

Crowley just stared at him. “You’re kidding.” He deadpanned.

“I can assure you I’m not.” Aziraphale said. “I can’t imagine her hurting a soul. Perhaps we should talk to her.”

Crowley blanched. “No, Angel, that’s really not a good idea.”

But Aziraphale was already calling for the ghost. “Matilda!” He called. “Can you come here, please?” 

And she was there. She didn’t fade in, or come through a wall. She was just… there. Crowley couldn’t supress a flinch.

“Matilda, my dear.” Aziraphale’s tone had hardened somewhat. “Is it true you’ve been scaring poor old Crowley?”

Crowley blushed, he felt like a bullied little kid being defended by a teacher on the school playground. It really didn’t feel like the right position for the demon to be taking.

“Yes.” She said. Her voice was higher that he had previously heard it, almost sweet, a stark contrast to her ragged form.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very nice!” He said. “Why in Heaven have you been doing this?”

“It is fun.” She replied, simply. There was a hint of a smile on her face. “I could tell he was scared of me as soon as he walked in. I have been dead for eight hundred years, it gets a little boring after a while.”

“I’m entertainment?!” Crowley croaked.

She smiled at him, which would have been sweet if she wasn’t showing off all her rotten teeth.

“Matilda.” Aziraphale scolded, as if he were talking to a young child, which he probably was. She couldn't be older than twelve. “That’s not nice!”

Matilda stopped smiling and looked at the angel with a tinge of hurt. 

“But-,” She started.

“No buts.” Aziraphale glared at the ghost, legitimately angry. That was something rare, and only seemed to happen when the situation involved Crowley. He wasn’t sure quite how to feel about that. “Apologise to Crowley.”

Crowley felt his cheeks redden. “That’s not necessary.”

Matilda said nothing.

“Or I won’t read you the rest of Little Women.”

That did it. Matilda spun on her heel to face the demon. “I am sorry, Mr. Crowley, Sir.” She said, her voice sincere. “It will not happen again. I…” She glanced sideways at Aziraphale, who nodded encouragingly. “I hope that we can be friends from here on out.”

Crowley was at a genuine loss for words. “Good?” He said, still completely lost.

Aziraphale beamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and feedback is appreciated! ❤️


End file.
